


Steam

by RegentOfTheAuxArcs



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cameos, Clubbing, Don't Try This At Home, Finals Week, Gay Bar, M/M, Masturbation in Bathroom, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Stress Relief, bad dancing, coming out/unsupportive family, not even hux uses the handicap stall while being able, that goth shit, you know it's fantasy because financial stability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 23:18:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14555727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegentOfTheAuxArcs/pseuds/RegentOfTheAuxArcs
Summary: Finals week is rough on everyone, but lucky for you, you've got an awesome boyfriend who knows how to relieve stress and keep things interesting.





	Steam

**Author's Note:**

> Catch us on the Tumblr at https://suns-of-the-new-sith.tumblr.com/
> 
> Soundtrack--Never Though This Would Happen--The Arkells
> 
> Giving a go at something new with this--second-person POV and Poe. I love him but I haven't done much with him, so why not? I didn't go back to class this semester but our BF did and this was kinda-sorta inspired by his awful week and good lord I did Honors College stuff when I was in class so like...here you go.

Finals week had been hell. I mean, it’s hell for everyone, but as a non-traditional (read as: too old for this shit) sophomore with an Honors College course load, it was extra hell. You know how a lot of people get told as kids “oh, you’re so smart and good at things” and then you get a complex about it when you’re an adult and everything that doesn’t just come to you is impossible?  
Yeah, that. SO much.  
But it’s fine—you had the last of your exams today and when you got home, Poe would be there and done with his too and you could just turn on Netflix and chill and forget that it was all in your instructors’ hands now.  
He had been super supportive when you’d said you wanted to make an honest go of school. You hadn’t had much time to mess with it when you were younger, having to work to support yourself when your family had been less-than-supportive when you came out, but it was well worth it. You had something a lot of your fellow students didn’t have—financial stability, an apartment of your own, and you’d met Poe at a bar that these kids wouldn’t even know existed until they were seniors. Pretty good trade-off.  
But damn—you didn’t know it would be this hard. Ten years made a lot of difference when you were having to get used to full-time school instead of work. Poe was happy to support you doing his mechanics job and finishing his engineering degree part-time. At least that was something you weren’t stressed about this week.

On the bus coming home from campus, you shot him a text, hoping he was out already.  
/Netflix and chill tonight? Anthro was hell, tired and cranky./  
Your phone buzzed almost immediately.  
/Alternative: go out?/  
You balked at the thought. Going out meant things like real clothes and maybe doing your face and while being goth was fun sometimes, it took WORK. But he did love it, so…  
/Not sold, Dickson is gonna be a mess. Not driving./  
/That’s fine. I got you. It’ll be fun. I have ideas. 5 from home./  
That was scary.  
So the whole ride home you thought about what he was plotting. You’d met in the first place out with friends—mutuals who you kinda happened to be in class with, but after freshman year, you all went separate directions. They’d managed to get you to go out for a couple beers, a game of pool, and you were shook from the first time he bent over the table (oh lord those jeans and that leather jacket) and calculated and managed to pull off a particularly difficult trick shot. He’d actually been lowkey trying to impress Rey, but she was a little distracted with your buddy Finn—but he didn’t mind at all having your eyes on him. He flirted just as hard with you as he had with her, and at the end of the night, you went with him for pancakes at the only place still open that late when the rest of them went home. God, his laugh was infectious and that smile could kill you anytime. After you’d moved in together he kind of settled down and spent more time in books than out with the guys, but hey, it was nice to have a boyfriend who could give you space when you needed it. Tonight just wasn’t one of those times.

When you got in, he was sitting at the kitchen table looking smug as fuck and wearing…those had to be the same jeans from the night you met. Perfect fit, distressed, worn-in hole at the knee? Oh, that was not even fair. Heat crept into your cheeks when you thought about why he’d picked those in particular—he’d stopped wearing them for a while when one of the pockets blew out and change fell right down his pants. Black button-up with just enough left open to be indecent, and holy hell, he was serious, he’d actually shined his shoes. The overall effect was too much.  
“Think you can work with this?” He said, gesturing down. You nodded, no longer feeling all that put out about looking good.  
“Good. I know you’re going to be handsome as fuck no matter what you do, but you might want to wear some shoes you’re comfortable…doing stuff in.”  
“Doing stuff? That’s real specific.”  
“Yeah. I mean, not like dancing or anything…”  
“Oh my GOD you know how I feel about The Club, Poe, come onnnn.”  
“Trust me?”  
God, when he did the big sad brown eyes thing, you couldn’t say no. So you sighed and dropped your bag and went to the bathroom to wash up and get ready.

A half hour and two eyeliner do-overs later, you were satisfied with yourself and ready to go look ridiculous. Dressing the part is easy enough—black jeans, black shirt, Converse go with everything. But your willingness to throw gender roles in the trash (exactly where they go) and wear full makeup was always something he loved about you. You had to stop and breathe a minute when you thought about exactly how he ruined your lipstick last time. He took your arm and you left, weirdly giddy and blushing like it was your first time out. 

Dickson Street was alive with people and bright lights and interesting food-and-beer smells. It was a historic street with older buildings and had its own energy separate from the rest of town. It was nice to live someplace where people didn’t look at you funny for holding hands in public—if anything, you got several envious glances from both women and men. But his eyes were entirely on you, and he was more than fine with listening to you grouse about exams and stress and finally being done with it, at least until fall. Even though you weren’t entirely sure at first, it felt refreshing to be out and about with all the other students and some of their families, all doing the same thing: letting off steam at the end of a rough week and relaxing before the pomp and ridiculousness of graduation. You were most looking forward to seeing your name carved into the stone sidewalks of campus forever—they did that with every graduate, and you could come back at any time and it would still be there. He didn’t talk much about it, but Poe was excited to see his too—he was the first in his family to go to school.

Instead of the bars right there on the street, he steered you off down an alley. There was only one thing of note down here and you’d heard of the place but never been there: Tangerine, one of a handful of queer bars in town. The others were kind of like Cheers, everybody knew everybody and they were homey, but they weren’t really fit for two well-dressed young dudes looking for a good time. He paid the cover, you both flashed IDs, and once you were inside, it was wall-to-wall bodies, a mix of fruity alcohol and spicy colonges and sweat and light and noise. Nothing like the places you went with your friends, but you could see the appeal—here, you could disappear into the crowd and be anonymous. You secretly wondered if that was his plan in the first place. For all his confidence and easy-going ways, he still got nervous sometimes in public.

It was a fight to get to the bar and took a good five minutes just to get ahold of the bartender, but once you had your blackberry mimosas (hey, every drink is manly if you’re a man drinking it), it was worth the wait. He was a talented mixologist and these things were dangerous, so sweet that you could hardly taste the bite. He sucked his back and ordered another two for both of you. After the second, he was ready to hit the floor. You’d never really considered yourself good at this part, but with his hands guiding you from behind, it wouldn’t be hard to figure it out.  
Or maybe it would be.  
That definitely wasn’t his wallet you felt pressing into your ass.  
Somehow the champagne pumping through you made all of it okay.

You weren’t sure what to make of tipsy, saucy Poe but he was right, this sort of thing had its charm.  
He got into it all—singing along with the bar to Queen’s “Somebody To Love”, pulling you along with him to Die Antwoord, laughing when you both made complete idiots of yourselves out there, and for the first time the whole week, you actually forgot about everything except his silly grin and slim hands and damn, those jeans.  
He said something over the din on the floor but you can’t have heard it properly–  
“What?”  
“I said, meet me in the men’s room!”  
Okay, maybe you did hear that right but there is no way in hell he was serious.  
The song ended and he set his glass down on a table and swaggered off in the direction of the facilities and yep, he was serious.

He washed his hands and you stood awkwardly, waiting for the other guys to leave. When they finally did, he pulled you into the only non-handicap stall and helped you to stand on the seat.  
“I don’t wanna get caught but I can’t wait until we get home,” he whispered, making quick work of your studded belt and shifting your pants down just far enough that he could reach inside.  
“Oh my god, you can’t just—”  
It just took feeling his hands around you to change your mind.  
“Let me, this week has sucked, live a little,” he said, spitting into his palm and sliding it down your shaft.  
You stuffed the side of your hand in your mouth to keep quiet, knees buckling, trying to stay stable standing on the damn toilet seat as he pulled, heart pounding not just from the feel and intensity but also anxiety over that door swinging open and someone knowing what was going on. You’d never even thought about doing this before but now that you were, you totally understood why doing lewd things in public was hot. The anxiety didn’t kill it, if anything, it raised the stakes and every nerve was awake and over-stimulated and it was goddamn exhilarating.   
“Oh dear god Poe I’m—”  
“Go for it, it’s fine, I’ve got you.”  
You didn’t have time to get the rest out, you came hard and nearly fell over, holding onto his shoulder as you rode it out. Once you were good to go, he wiped off his hands on the available paper and wiped down the seat and flushed. To your horror, the door swung open.  
“Honestly, Ren, this place is filthy,” said a man.  
“Hush, Armie, it’s normal, just be quiet and nobody will know,” said the other.  
“Don’t call me that and I am not doing this in there, someone might need it.”  
“Well, there’s someone in the…fuck.”  
Poe snickered and there was no way you could get out of there without being seen by at least these two. So he opened the stall and let you go out first. You kept your eyes to the floor and had to fight to hold in the laughter, but you went straight back out to the floor like nothing happened.   
“Get me back when we get home,” he said, dropping money on the counter for the bartender.  
Absolutely.


End file.
